


Field Notes

by vivisextion



Series: Cryptozoology [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Biting, Fluff, Gay Sex, Humor, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Romance, Trans! Damien, Vampire! Damien, You'll Have to Read to Find Out - Freeform, dad jokes, smallmarch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivisextion/pseuds/vivisextion
Summary: Robert is convinced that Damien is a vampire so he starts to observe him for evidence, but he ends up catching the greatest cryptid of all: feelings.





	Field Notes

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after [Damien comes out to Robert](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11764359/chapters/26544330), so he's aware that Damien is trans. Consider this a divergent universe from that story. 
> 
> The smut has been made as dysphoria-friendly as possible, for the sake of myself and others.

Mary made phenomenal rum brownies. Everyone knew about them, about their gooey insides and fiery aftertaste. They only made their appearance at select church bake sales, and only by request via code words. The entire transaction was shrouded in secrecy. They didn’t last long, and were the only thing that could have brought Robert anywhere near a church. She’d promised him the good crusty corner piece, on account of their relationship as drinking buddies.  
  
She also made another particular type of brownie, a skill she’d honed during college, but they were not found anywhere near church premises, and were only made to order. Those were another kind of baked goods.  
  
He showed up, wearing his usual leather jacket and looking incredibly out of place. Some of the more upstanding folk threw him dirty looks, and whispered. Possibly about the fact that he hadn’t shaved and looked like day-old shit, but he didn’t care. He made a beeline for Mary’s booth.  
  
“Look man, what time is it?” Robert said to her.  
  
“The clock on the wall says three o’clock,” she answered mysteriously. “What do you need?”  
  
“One bourbon, one scotch, one beer,” was his reply to her riddle. She reached under the table and pulled up a little plastic bag with a brown square of chocolatey, alcoholic goodness.  
  
“Just one? Come on, Mary.” Robert pleaded. “Next round’s on me.”  
  
She gave him a little scowl, then reached down again and retrieved another little plastic bag.  
  
“You’re a saint.” He grinned. He tucked his prize safely within his jacket, and then something very interesting happened.  
  
Mary’s twins - he couldn’t for the life of them remember their names - charged past him, almost bowling him over. They ran behind their mother and cowered in fear. Robert had never seen them like this. Hell, he didn’t know they were capable of any other emotion except creepy.  
  
“Mommy! The vampire is here! He's coming to eat us!” The boy one tried to burrow under her chair, while the girl one peeked out from behind the table.  
  
“The what now?” Robert asked. He looked behind them to see what had frightened them so much. It turned out to be Damien, sauntering along in his usual Victorian clothing, his cloak slightly adrift in the lovely breeze.  
  
“Damien!” Mary gave him a rare smile. “I see crossing the threshold into this holy sanctuary hasn’t incinerated you into a crisp.”  
  
“Mary, my darling, it will take more than hallowed ground to do me in. Pray tell, what time it is?”  
  
“The clock on the wall says three o’clock. What do you need?”  
  
“I do believe I require one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer.”  
  
Mary handed over two little plastic bags of her special brownies to Damien.  
  
“How come he gets two?” Robert protested.  
  
“Because he’s my special boy, and you’re not.” Mary smirked at him.  
  
“I am truly honoured.” Damien gave her a little bow.  
  
“Mommy, is he gone yet?” whispered the girl twin, in the way children tend to whisper, which meant that everyone in the vicinity heard her loud and clear.  
  
“Nope, he’s standing right in front of me.”  
  
The two children gave a little scream and crammed themselves under the table some more.  
  
“What the H E double hockey sticks is going on?” Robert raised an eyebrow.  
  
Mary rolled her eyes. “My children are under the impression that Damien is a vampire.”  
  
“And are you?” Robert demanding, eyeing his neighbour suspiciously.  
  
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” was Damien’s cryptic reply. He smiled like a Sphinx, and then with a swish of his cloak, disappeared out of the church gate.

* * *

Robert sat in the Coffee Spoon, armed with a pen, his leatherbound journal, and a Odd Future Wolf Gang Coffee Them All, which was as much of a mouthful as its name suggested. It paired extremely well with the rum brownie in his hand, which was strong on the rum, just like how Mama used to make it. He’d chosen a seat in the corner with his back to the wall, of course. It gave him an excellent vantage point to observe the rest of the cafe, while ensuring no one could sneak up behind him. He started to scribble in his journal, between savouring bites from his precious brownie.  
  
  
_  
Subject: Damien Bloodmarch  
  
Hair: black, long  
  
Height: taller than me  
  
Eyes: purple??  
  
  
  
1 Sept 5.29pm  
  
Subject seen purchasing M’s special brownies (the rum kind, not the other kind) at church bake sale. M’s kids scared of him, claim he is a vampire. Weather cloudy, no direct sunlight. Can vampires enter churches?_  
  
  
  
That would have to do for now. His observations sorely needed research, and there was only one place for it.  
  
Just then, his subject walked into the Coffee Spoon. Damien situated himself on the cafe’s very comfortable couch as Mat fetched him ‘his usual’, which turned out to be a pot of tea.  
_  
__Can vampires drink tea?_ Robert added to his most recent entry, then looked up. Damien caught his eye and waved, then began to read a book he’d brought with him. Robert squinted. Oscar Wilde.  
  
He watched Damien with a careful eye. There was something undoubtedly ethereal about the man. His eyes were a strange colour, his skin pale and in sharp contrast with his hair, dark as a raven’s wing. He’d never seen any other human alive who looked, talked, and moved like Damien. If he didn’t know any better, Robert would have thought he’d walked straight out of a Anne Rice novel.  
_  
__Subject has extensive knowledge on the Victorian era_ , he recalled, hastily writing it down. Robert made a mental note to research vampirism during this time. All he knew about the Victorian era were Sherlock Holmes and rent boys. _Theory: subject was turned during the 1800s._  
  
He waited, like a cop on a stakeout, until Damien left, then quietly slipped down the road and headed home. Tomorrow he’d hit the library.

* * *

“Where are all your books on vampires?” Robert demanded. The pimple-faced trainee librarian behind the reception desk stared at him.  
  
“Uh, in the Folklore section? Or you could just Google it.”  
  
“Listen, kid. In my day, there was no Google. I’m sticking to good old fashioned research. With books.” Robert glared at the teenager, then stalked off to the Folklore section. He found a good number of analyses on vampire novels written during the Victorian era, but not much on actual vampires.  
  
Still, it was quite illuminating. Polidori’s The Vampyre had kicked it all off, and then quintessential works like Bram Stoker’s Dracula and le Fanu’s Carmilla had followed. During this time, the notion of a vampire had shifted from revenant corpses that fed off villagers, to swanky undead nobles who made their way into posh drawing rooms and even bedchambers. Damien was clearly the latter.  
  
The more he looked into it, the more fascinating it became, and the more Damien haunted his thoughts.  
  
He did come away with a few things, however, not the least of which was the ability to discuss gender roles and disease allegories in Victorian horror literature. Pretty useless, in the scheme of things, unless he wanted to have a rousing discussion with Hugo.  
  
His head buzzing with new knowledge, he left for his thinking place in the woods.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon, by this point. Robert never got up before noon, and by the time he’d reached his preferred spot for contemplation, the sun was threatening to set. He’d brought Betsy, who had to poop anyway.  
  
Betsy had been lazing beside him as he brooded and whittled a funny shape (penis) out of a piece of wood he’d found, when suddenly, she started growling. He looked up, staring into the treeline, but couldn’t see anything.  
  
“What is it, girl?”  
  
Nothing. Visibility wasn’t too bad yet, with the orange sunlight of imminent dusk spilling through the treetops. Then he heard a twig snap.  
  
The good thing about whittling, Robert always thought, was that in the event of danger, you already had a knife on your hands. He stood, cautiously watching in the direction Betsy was staring at. Never one to back down from a fight, or from looking for one, he and his dog approached the clump of trees ahead.  
  
He came close enough to spot a hooded, dark figure crouched on the forest floor. Robert clutched his knife tighter, his heart pounding. Betsy barked at it, startling the figure. It turned around to reveal a white face.  
  
It hadn’t been hooded after all. It was just a person, with long, dark hair, and the white face was one he knew well. It was Damien. He exhaled, long and hard, relieved that he didn’t have to knife fight a cryptid. Damien stood, holding his cloak to him, clutching his chest.  
  
“Oh, Robert! You gave me such a turn.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Robert looked at him warily.  
  
“I was having a stroll in the woods, enjoying Nature in solitude, as one does, and then I found this poor thing! I think it’s injured.”  
  
Damien uncovered his cloak to reveal a tiny bat. One wing was a little more bent than it had any right to be, and looked quite painful.  
  
Robert narrowed his eyes at it. “What if it’s got rabies?”  
  
“I looked for any obvious symptoms. It seems harmless enough, don’t you think?” Damien considered it with a thoughtful expression. “I’ll take it back to the shelter. They’ll know what to do.”  
  
The little bat shivered, looking worse for wear, and Damien wrapped it carefully in the folds of fabric, holding it close to his chest for warmth. The sun was beginning to set, and the temperature was dropping. Might as well head home. Betsy never liked the woods in the dark anyway, and Robert could see why.  
  
“I’ll walk you out,” Robert decided. Damien smiled at him.  
  
“How very kind of you.” Damien glanced down at Betsy, who was sniffing at the hem of his cloak as they walked. “What a charming pup! What’s your name?”  
  
“Her name’s Betsy,” Robert told him. “I found her wandering around these woods, so I put a leash on her and she’s been watching me whittle.”  
  
“Is that why you were brandishing a knife at me earlier?”  
  
“Sorry about that. Thought you were something else.”  
  
Damien laughed. It was a charming, musical laugh, and it tinkled in the air softly. “Something else? Whatever could be in these woods?”  
  
“More than you know,” Robert replied darkly. “And you don’t want to.”  
  
“Oh dear. I’m grateful for your protection, then.” Damien beamed at him and Betsy, and his stomach did a tiny backflip.  
  
They made their way out to the road, to where Robert’s pickup was.  
  
“Want a lift to the shelter?” he found himself offering, before mentally asking himself why on Earth he would do such a thing. Damien’s face brightened.  
  
“Oh, would you! I don’t want this creature to suffer any longer than it must.”  
  
Robert opened the door, and Damien hopped in. As he drove towards the animal shelter, he detected a distinct, floral fragrance, and spent most of the trip trying to decipher where it came from. No way it was coming from him, and definitely not Betsy either.  
  
Damien, on the other hand, was busy cooing reassuring words at the injured bat, which Robert might have admitted at gunpoint was very endearing.  
  
“Don’t worry, little one. We’ll get you somewhere safe and warm in no time.”  
  
Finally, he pulled up in the driveway of the shelter. Damien leaned closer and laid an hand on his shoulder. Robert realised then that the beguiling scent was coming from Damien, more specifically, his hair.  
  
“Thank you so much, Robert. You’re such a sweetheart.”  
  
Then Damien was out of the truck, vanishing through the doors of the building with a flutter of his cloak.  
  
Him? A sweetheart?  
  
He shook his head like a dog ridding itself of water, and drove home in stunned silence.

 

_2 Sept 7.40pm  
  
Found subject in the woods rescuing a bat. ~~Called me a sweetheart~~ Kindred spirit with creatures of the night? Woods may be possible hunting grounds.  _

* * *

_3 Sept 8.59pm_

_Subject spotted at the mall shopping at Dead Goth and Beyond. Appears to be outraged at Twilight shirts on sale. Irony? Complaining to anyone within earshot (including son) how inaccurate movie is re: vampiric lore. Interesting._  
  
  
_  
9 Sept 6.05pm  
  
Subject entered the library during research. Spotted me and made polite conversation. Leaned over to see what I was reading (history of Vlad the Impaler). Subject ~~smells nice~~ emits floral scent during each encounter. May be part of ploy to lure victims._

* * *

It was time to pony up. He’d promised Mary a round, and he had to pay the price for an extra rum brownie. He found her, as usual, at Jim & Kim’s, this time accompanied by her pal Damien. She was already tipsy, while he sipped his red wine rather sedately. He set three shots of whiskey down in front of his friends.  
  
“Hey, sail- oh, it’s you.” She gave him a sloppy grin. “Look what Dames found in the attic.”  
  
Mary brandished an old Polaroid at him, yellowed around the edges. It was a photograph of him and Mary in their younger days, the both of them wearing terrific amounts of make-up, their hair teased to impressive heights.  
  
“That’s us in college. I was a riot girl. With three r’s,” Mary sighed. That explained the number of safety pins, at least. “Now I’m a fucking stay at home mom. Oh, Life, you crazy bastard.”  
  
Robert stared in disbelief at the photograph. Damien had aged remarkably well. He looked up from the photo, and sure enough, the man didn’t have a wrinkle to call his own. He wondered if he could chalk it up to beer goggles, then remembered he hadn’t touched a drop yet since entering the establishment.  
  
“See you haven’t changed much,” he muttered at his neighbour.  
  
“Just good genes,” Damien replied with a serene smile.  
  
The flickering light from the little tea candle in the middle of the table was casting a soft orange glow over Damien’s pale face, and there was something quite mesmerising about it. Attempting to distract himself, he knocked back his drink a little faster than he would have normally. It wasn’t like he had anything else better to do, anyway.  
  
For once, though, he wasn’t the one spinning his yarn. It turned out that Damien and Mary together made for a bundle of laughs, a bundle he hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing up until now. Damien had less of a stick up his ass than Robert had previously assumed, and listening to them recount the crazy shit they’d got up to in college was changing his perception of the guy by the minute. Combined the considerable flow of liquor present, he was actually having a good time.  
  
“I mean, we thought the place was a haunted murder house, right? So we go there in the dead of night, high as shit, armed with store brand table salt of all things, which this genius insisted on bringing because apparently, it wards off evil spirits.” Mary jabbed a thumb at her friend. “The back door is covered in all this goddamn Satanic graffiti, and then suddenly it bursts open and there’s this huge old lady in this white billowing nightgown.”  
  
Damien, helpless with mirth, was slumped onto Mary, while Robert was practically howling, his sides hurting.  
  
“So obviously, we shit our pants. Fucking Einstein over here opens the can of salt and throws all of it on her. Just showers her in the stuff.”  
  
“When’d you realise she wasn’t a ghost?” Robert asked.  
  
Mary gave a shrug. “Probably when the salt hit her in the face. Boy, she was pissed.”  
  
“In retrospect, I think it stunned her long enough for us to make our escape,” Damien pointed out. “Then we ran all the way home, and crashed through our door in a blind panic. The cheap plywood thing then proceeded to fall off its hinges, and destroy our only desk lamp in the process.”  
  
“I mean, we weren’t going to call anyone to come fix it at that time of night. So we were like, fuck it. Just propped it up using the mini-fridge and our textbooks.” Mary giggled uncontrollably.  
  
Robert stared. “So what’d you do then?”  
  
“Lit another blunt and got even higher!” Mary crowed, and they all fell about laughing again.  
  
“Please. Stop. I’m gonna get abs from all this comedy gold.” Robert scrubbed the tears from his face with his sleeve, face down on the dirty table. He hadn’t laughed this hard in ages.  
  
“I wonder if Craig has discovered this revolutionary technique for abdominal workouts,” Damien pondered. “He’s always exercising on his lawn, which is quite visible from my study window. Once, he was out there doing push-ups, spotted me reading in the window seat and waved at me, but continued doing them. With one hand!”  
  
“Oooh.” Mary nudged Damien, with a salacious smile. “Can I come watch?”  
  
“You like that jock type, do ya, Bloodmarch?” Robert grinned at Damien.  
  
“Hardly,” Damien answered with a playful smile. “I prefer brains over brawn.”  
  
It was strange, too, how as the evening went on, Robert found it harder and harder not to gaze at Damien for too long. His eyes were just naturally drawn to the man, to his otherworldly charm. It occurred to him that he’d read something about supernatural beings with the ability to cast glamour over the humans around them. Was that just faeries, or could vampires do that too? He made a mental note to look that up, which promptly disappeared when he noticed how Damien’s lips were stained red with wine. Fascinating.  
  
“Hey, Earth to Robert!”  
  
His head snapped towards Mary, who was waving a hand in front of his face. “You just spaced out for a good five minutes.”  
  
“What? No.” Robert scoffed, and downed the rest of his bourbon as a cover. Not his best retort, seeing as it was now coming to the wee hours of the morning, and he’d had a lot to drink, even for Robert. His mental faculties were suffering as a result.  
  
“As entertaining as this evening has been, it is quite late.” Damien yawned. Mary nodded.  
  
“Time to hit the hay, gentlemen.”  
  
“Hey. Hey.” Robert pointed a shaky finger at her. “Watch who you’re calling a gentleman, lady.”  
  
They stumbled out of Jim and Kim’s, all the way back to the cul-de-sac, Robert moreso than the others, since he’d had the most to drink. Robert was pretty sure the neighbours weren’t at all appreciative of their drunken rendition of Toto’s Africa, but they belted it anyway. Joseph certainly did not seem to like it, as he came out in a dressing gown to hurriedly drag Mary inside.  
  
This left Robert with his arm around Damien, attempting to stand upright. Robert looked over at his friend. Under the light of the moon, there was something radiant about Damien, his pale skin almost aglow. It was just so captivating, and Robert found himself staring yet again. He sniffed deeply, and found that unmistakable floral scent that Damien always had about him.  
  
Thankfully, Damien had not drunk as fast or as much as his inebriated companion, and assisted him to the correct front door. After watching Robert try to open it for a few minutes, but failing to actually get the key into the lock, Damien did it for him.  
  
“Home sweet home,” Robert slurred, and wobbled towards his bedroom. Damien’s brow knitted together as he squinted at Robert with doubt.  
  
“Are you going to be alright?”  
  
“Sure. See? Bed’s right here. Watch. Tada!” Robert opened a door with the flourish of a magician revealing a trick, but it turned out to be the door to the bathroom.  
  
“Unless you sleep in a bathtub, I’d say you’re mistaken.” Damien tutted and tried another door, which did lead to a messy bedroom. “Ah. There it is.”  
  
Robert grunted his thanks, and then proceeded to collapse face first into his bed. Damien checked to make sure Robert’s pillow wasn’t suffocating him, then pulled the covers over his inert figure.  
  
“Goodnight, Robert.” Damien ruffled his hair, then departed for his own bed, chuckling to himself.

 

_13 Sept ?.??am  
  
Had drinks at J &K’s with M and subject, who looked ~~attractive~~ ~~appealing~~ nice. Find out if vampires cast glamour, or only faeries.  
  
M showed me photo of them in college. Subject has not aged a day. Immortal? See: Keanu Reeves. Check for historical portraits that resemble subject.  
  
Subject ~~extremely beautiful~~ ~~even more alluring~~ appears to have increased glamour under moonlight. May be associated with vampiric powers._

* * *

  _17 Sept 7.26pm  
  
Subject knocked on my door to offer an entire casserole dish of butternut squash mac and cheese, claims he made too much and also that I’d forget to eat otherwise. Was fucking delicious. Trying to get me to let my guard down? Might be working. As show of good faith, left a six pack of that fruity Swedish cider he seems to like on his porch when returning casserole dish._

 

_21 Sept 4.43pm  
  
Subject is in the Coffee Spoon reading Victorian penny dreadful Varney the Vampire. May be aware of surveillance and is taunting me._

 

_26 Sept 5.12pm  
  
Walked dog by lake. Subject found swimming in it. Came out to greet me when I walked past. Subject ~~did not have shirt on~~ ~~has a rocking bod~~ ~~had water dripping all over him~~ informed me that Victorians were big on swimming. Apparently Lord Byron an avid swimmer. Research suggests vampires can’t cross open bodies of water. Do lakes count?_

* * *

Armed with his special cryptid hunting binoculars (with night vision, of course), he planned on investigating the cemetery next. It was a well-know fact that Damien often visited it. It occurred to him that he had only seen Damien around during the evenings, though it might have had something to do with the fact that Robert rarely left the house in the daytime. He decided to make a note of it anyway. He ducked behind a large, ostentatious headstone. Probably some rich fuck’s, he thought.

 

_29 Sept 8.10pm  
  
Subject at graveyard. Movement largely after dusk. Nocturnal?_

 

It was a mild, pleasant evening, and normally, he would be at his own spot, with only his dog for company. Today, however, he had other plans. Betsy sprawled out on top of the grave, tired after their trek through the cemetery. Using his trusty binoculars, he watched Damien through the night vision filter, a small figure in a sea of fuzzy green and black shapes. Damien was sat on top of a little crest, and appeared to be doing little more than looking out at the city lights beyond. Bored, Betsy pawed at him impatiently, whining.  
  
“Not now, girl.” Robert shushed her, and stealthily moved behind a mausoleum, closer to the hill, the better to observe his subject. Deprived of affection, Betsy continued to whimper, but he ignored her.  
  
He kept a close eye on his target for a few minutes. He heard nothing but the quiet sounds of the night - soft animal calls, insects buzzing, and the rustle of the wind in the trees. Not quite spooky, despite the environment. Besides, the paranormal never frightened him. People did.  
  
Out from nowhere, a little white blob scuttled into his field of vision. Robert put his binoculars down.  
  
“Betsy!” He hissed. “Get back here!”  
  
Fed up with not receiving any attention, Betsy had wandered off, right up the little hill Damien was sitting atop. Oblivious to his commands, she headed straight for the only other person in sight, hoping for a cuddle.  
  
Robert swore, quickly stowing his journal and binoculars back into his jacket, then scrambling after his disobedient dog. She bounded over to Damien, who let her sniff his hand by way of introduction.  
  
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Betsy. Would you care for a dog treat?”  
  
Betsy, as it turns out, did indeed. Damien conjured up one from the depths of his cloak, and Betsy decided she liked Damien a lot more now.  
  
Robert, who had a harder time making it up the hill compared to a spry Boston Terrier, was panting a little by the time he caught up.  
  
“Robert! What a pleasant surprise.” Damien smiled at him. “I thought you might not be far behind.”  
  
Betsy had settled in Damien’s lap, who was giving her the ear scratches she felt she deserved. It was nice, after being neglected for a while by her owner.  
  
“You’re so precious,” Damien gushed. “You are just the cutest little pup I’ve ever met.”  
  
“Don’t spoil her,” Robert warned. He glanced down. Damien was sat on top of a blanket, and had a little basket next to him. “Funny place to have a picnic.”  
  
“It’s an old Victorian tradition, picnicking in graveyards,” Damien explained. “Won’t you come sit with me? I’ve got some hot cocoa in my thermos, if you’d like.”  
  
Robert sat next to him begrudgingly, cross-legged. Might as well gather more data. Damien was gazing out at the glimmering lights in the distance.  
  
“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it? More so at night.”  
  
He had to agree. It was quite hypnotising, the way the lights blinked and flickered. “This your thinking spot?” Robert asked.  
  
“I suppose so,” Damien mused, continuing to pet Betsy, who had cosied up to him under his warm cloak, and was prepared to stay. “Lucien is away on a school trip, and it was such a lovely evening, I thought I might have my dinner out of doors.”  
  
“You got some blood packs in there?” Robert smirked. “Some fresh AB+ in that basket?”  
  
Damien huffed with exasperation, but looked amused all the same. “Robert, I’m not a vampire.”  
  
“Sounds like something a vampire would say,” Robert shot back. Damien chuckled and opened his basket. In it sat a tupperware bowl that contained the remnants of a salad, and a thermos flask.

“I’m a vegetarian. They say refraining from meat helps to curb the bloodlust.” Damien gave him a knowing smile.

Robert snorted. “Knew it.”

“The game is up,” Damien sighed melodramatically. “Will you turn me in to the anti-vampyric authorities? What will be my fate, Robert?”  
  
“Since you’re not actively hunting, I won’t alert the FBI, so long as you don’t fall off the wagon.”  
  
Damien raised an incredulous eyebrow. “The FBI monitors vampire activity?”  
  
“You bet your ass they do. They work with Interpol to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. Don’t want any Old World vampires coming over here and starting covens.”  
  
“Oh dear. I should count myself lucky you’ve spared me, then.”

They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the scenery. Robert appreciated a guy who knew the value of a comfortable silence. He looked over at his neighbour, who appeared to be enraptured by the lights. The evening light softened Damien’s beautiful features, and he looked much younger like this. His long hair swayed in the breeze, and Robert once again found himself bathed in that familiar, floral perfume that always seemed to accompany the man. He had to admit, there was something quite enchanting about Damien, vampire or not. Perhaps it was his dark eyes that drew you in, or his affable charm that made you stay.  
  
Robert only realised he had been observing the sharp planes of Damien’s cheekbones for a minute too long when Damien nudged him, a puzzled look on his face.  
  
“Are you quite alright, Robert?”

He snapped back into reality. “Huh? What?”

“You’ve been staring at me for some time.” Damien peered at him. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Nothing. Just, you know. Trying to work out if you have standard issue vampire fangs or not.” Nice save. He mentally congratulated himself.

Damien giggled. “Oh, no. They’re retractable, you see. That’s how we keep a low profile.”

“Makes sense.” Robert nodded. “Probably only sharpen when you feed. Bloodlust probably triggers a physiological reaction.”

“You are quite the scientific thinker, aren’t you.”

“Yep. That’s my thinking spot over there.” Robert indicated to a point far across the landscape, to a cliffside area overlooking the city as well.

“It looks like it would have a wonderful view.” Damien gazed at it. “I should like to see the city from there at some point.”

Out of nowhere, fat droplets of rain landed one by one on them. Robert cursed, remembering that he’d walked here with Betsy instead of driving.

Damien looked up at the sky. “Oh no.”

“We’d better get going.”

Robert stood, offering a hand to help Damien up, who accepted it. The three of them quickly made their way through the cemetery, but the sudden storm came thick and fast, and soon they were darting between gravestones. They ran all the way back to their cul-de-sac, and by the time they’d reached Damien’s porch, they were all thoroughly soaked to the bone.

“Goddamnit,” Robert swore. It was a good thing he’d worn his leather jacket, or his binoculars and journal would have been ruined. The rest of him wasn’t doing as well.

“This is going to take ages to dry,” Damien remarked with dismay, taking off his cloak.

Robert turned to head back to his own house, figuring he might as well brave the rain, since he was already drenched.

“Where are you going?” Damien asked, bewildered.

Robert paused. “Gonna go home and dry off.”

“Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Robert. Come inside, you’ll catch your death of cold like this!” Damien insisted. Betsy’s sad dog noises could not be argued with. He sighed.

Damien hurriedly ushered them all in, then rushed off into the house. Robert tossed his leather coat onto a nearby hat stand, where it proceeded to drip an impressive puddle into the carpet. Damien came back with an armful of towels, handing one to him. He accepted it gruffly.

“Pardon me, I’ve got to put on something less… wet.” Damien grimaced with discomfort. “I’ll fetch you some dry things.”

Damien returned wearing his glasses, sweatpants and an old Bauhaus t-shirt, looking distinctly less Victorian than before. He’d scrubbed his makeup off, and his hair hung wet and limp. He stopped short at the sight of Robert, and seemed more than a little gobsmacked. Those dark eyes roved over him, up and down.

“These, um. These old clothes might fit you.” Damien handed him an old, maroon sweater, and a pair of jeans, with a funny expression Robert couldn’t decipher. “The bathroom is that way.”

The bathroom was, luckily, not quite as accurate to the Victorian period as Robert was dreading it might be. It had a flush toilet, anyway. Robert appreciated the modern amenities, as well as the use of dark marble accents. It wasn’t until he looked in the mirror did he understand Damien’s reaction. His wet t-shirt was clinging to his body, far too revealing to be decent. He was lean, not from healthy exercise, but from irregular eating habits and regular drinking. His boxing days were a long time ago, but for his age, he thought he looked pretty okay.

He changed out of his wet clothes, and left them draped over the side of the bathtub. Thankfully, the jeans fit, and the sweater was oversized and snug, like it was knitted by an elderly relative.

When he returned, Damien was towel drying Betsy, her fur sticking up as he rubbed it all over her. She was loving it, at any rate. Damien looked up when he entered, and smiled.

“Don't you look comfortable. Maroon suits you.”

Robert couldn’t deny it. It was a comfy sweater.

“I should probably head ba-”

Lightning flashed outside, startling them, and Robert’s sentence was interrupted by a deafening crack of thunder.

“Never mind.”

Damien glanced out the window. “You’re welcome to stay here until it stops.”

It did seem pointless to go out into the torrential downpour again. He weighed his options. Then, reluctantly, he flopped down onto the couch.

“Excuse me for a minute. Please, make yourself at home.” Damien stood and padded off someplace. Robert noticed his bare feet for the first time. Damien’s toenails were painted black, like his fingernails.

Robert dried his hair absentmindedly with the towel, looking around Damien’s living room. It looked like a cross between a museum and an old-timey parlour. Oil paintings adorned the walls, and glass cases displayed intricate animal skeletons. Betsy decided it was time for nap after the night’s trying events, and wandered off to snooze, taking her wet dog smell with her.

His host came back with a crocheted blanket over his arm, bearing two steaming mugs. Damien set them down onto the coffee table.

“Here’s that hot cocoa I promised.”

Robert took a careful sip, and moaned. It was rich and decadent, with marshmallows on top. It was paradise after the suffering he’d just endured.

“Goddamn. This is amazing.” Robert sipped faster, trying not to scald his tongue. “I don’t care if you’re a vampire. You have my loyalty from here on out.”

Damien laughed, cupping his hands around the mug to warm them. “I do make a mean cup of hot cocoa.”

“Give me a cup of this stuff and one of Mary’s special brownies, and I can die a happy man.”

“The rum kind, or the other kind?”

“Both. At the same time.”

Damien chuckled. “You like to live dangerously, I see.”

“That’s my middle name.”

“That can’t be.” Damien wrinkled his nose. “Your name would be… Robert Dangerously Small!” He burst into a fit of giggles. Robert, unable to keep a straight face, joined in, until they were both hysterical with laughter.

“Oh, my goodness.” Damien wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

Robert agreed, continuing to down his hot cocoa. He peered into his mug, now empty. “How is this stuff so good? Some kind of secret ingredient?”

“Yes, actually.”

“What is it?” Robert looked up at his neighbour.

“I couldn’t tell you, now, could I? Then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“Fine. Be like that. I’ll find out eventually.”

“You’ll have to prise it from my cold, undead hands.” Damien gave him a smug smile.

It was kind of funny. Without his make-up and usual Victorian garb, Damien looked quite different, yet far from ordinary. Less mysterious creature of the night, and more pretty goth boy. He appeared even younger like this, fresh-faced and innocent-looking in his pyjamas. Robert discovered that Damien’s eyes weren't actually violet, but a deep, dark brown.

_Shit, he’s cute._

Damien cocked his head to one side. “Robert, you’re staring at me again.”

Shaken out of his reverie by Damien's voice, Robert replied with a slurred “What?”.

“Like you did before, at the cemetery.”

“Uh…” Robert’s tired brain made a feeble attempt to find an excuse, but he was coming up blank.

“And whenever I’m in the Coffee Spoon. Come to think of it, it would appear you have been staring at me quite a lot.”

“You look nice,” Robert blurted out, then inwardly cursed himself.

“You… You think I look nice?” Damien blinked in surprise.

The heady warmth of the sweater he was wearing and the hot cocoa in his belly was making him stupid. This was unfortunate, since a few things were clunking into place inside Robert’s head, like boulders falling clumsily down a mountainside. Foremost of which was the fact that he'd just realised he had a massive crush on his neighbour, something he hadn't known was possible at his age.

Well, he’d always been a gambling man. Go big or go home, right? Robert bit the bullet, and finally said what he’d been thinking all night.

“I think you look goddamn gorgeous, Bloodmarch.”

Damien’s cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “Oh my. I had no idea you... Is that why you’ve been following me everywhere?”

Robert gave an awkward cough. “Not at first. I was observing you for vampiric activity in the beginning.”

Damien smiled at him in amusement. “Oh, you can't be serious. Were you really?”

Robert stood up, crossed over to his sodden leather jacket, and retrieved his journal. Thankfully, the pages were still intact, though the edges were damp and warping. He handed it to Damien, who peeled each page apart carefully, reading it with the occasional snort of mirth. It contained many observations on his supposed vampire behaviour, and then seemed to gradually devolve into favourable comments on his appearance. Finally, Damien handed it back to Robert as he dissolved into yet more laughter.

“Oh, I don't believe this! This is hilarity itself.”

“Just my duty as an upstanding citizen to make sure one of my neighbours isn't an evil, bloodsucking menace to society,” Robert countered.

“Yes, Robert, I'm sure that's why you've included an entire paragraph on how lovely you think my hands are.”

“They're nice hands!” He replied, a little defensive. Robert took a deep breath, then spoke. “I like you.” Not the most eloquent, but it was all he could muster up at the moment. Besides, it was the honest truth. “You're stunning, and I'll be damned if you're not the kindest soul I've met in this town. I understand if you want nothing to do with a man like me, but…” He sighed heavily. “Thought I'd let you know.” He averted his eyes, unable to meet Damien’s gaze.

Damien’s face flushed an even deeper red. He giggled. “Oh, you old silly.” He smiled at Robert fondly. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Damien leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek.

“If I may be quite so bold as to say… I’ve always thought you were rather handsome. In a rugged sort of a way.” Damien looked away shyly. “I was under the impression you were the brooding and mysterious type for the longest time. But, as I came to know you better, I've found that under that tough exterior of yours, you really are a sweet man, Robert.”

Robert snorted. “I'm not as nice as you think I am.”

“Is this the moment where you confess you're actually a werewolf, tempted by the seductive call of bloodlust as well?” Damien grinned.

“I guess you know the truth now.” Robert sighed melodramatically. “I keep the beast within quiet with shot after shot of whiskey. But I think he can be persuaded to switch to your hot cocoa.”

“Ironic, since chocolate is toxic for canines, but if it keeps you from imbibing copious amounts of alcohol, I'll make you a nice hot mug every night.”

“You're an angel, Bloodmarch. My liver’s gonna throw you a parade.”

“I thought I was a vampire.”

“You're a real looker, either way.”

Damien giggled some more. “Oh, stop. I probably resemble a wet noodle at the moment. Without my usual manner of dress, I think you’ll find I’m quite boring, really.”

“Not to me.” The expression on Robert’s face was serious. He drew nearer without thinking, brushing long strands of hair away from Damien’s face and tucking it behind his ear. They were face to face now, almost too close. “Will you let me kiss you?”

The words fell out of his mouth before he'd had time to think it over. Damien grew more crimson than before, and nodded.

Robert ran a hand through his friend’s hair, resting it on the nape of his neck. Then he leaned in, and pressed his mouth to Damien’s in a gentle kiss. Damien’s lips were softer than he'd imagined, and for a delightful moment, it felt like heaven. He pulled away at last, and nudged his forehead against Damien’s.

“God, you're beautiful.”

“Oh, Robert,” Damien breathed. “I had no idea you felt this strongly about me.”

“Me neither. I'm kinda slow on the uptake sometimes.”

“Perhaps this will aid in your deductive reasoning.”

Damien's elegant fingers caressed his unshaven jaw, and then this time, Damien kissed Robert properly. Robert moaned into his mouth when he felt the tip of Damien’s tongue brush against his.

Damien let go of Robert, blushing furiously, but looking quite pleased with himself. Robert closed his eyes and laughed.

“You're going to be the death of me, Bloodmarch.”

He slid an arm around Damien’s waist. Damien shifted closer, his legs tucked up under him. Outside, the thunderstorm showed no sign of relenting, but Robert couldn’t care less. The world could end for all he gave a shit, now that he was sat here with Damien, cuddled under a warm blanket. He let out a sigh of bliss.

“I suppose you'll have to stay. What a shame.” Damien smirked. “I'm sure you won't mind. A big bad werewolf like yourself has nothing to fear.”

“Nope,” Robert agreed. “Just chilling in this vampire’s lair. No big deal.”

“We make quite a pair, don't we?” Damien's eyes twinkled with mischief. “I was under the impression that there was some kind of feud between vampires and werewolves.”

“Guess you could say I’m fraternising with the enemy.”

He pressed a kiss to Damien’s head, inhaling that sweet scent that followed Damien everywhere. It was quite intoxicating, and hard to get enough of.

“You smell good.”

“I smell like a wet dog, Robert.”

“You smell pretty damn good for a wet dog, then,” Robert said, nosing at the crook of Damien’s neck.

“Robert!” Damien laughed and squirmed in his arms as the scruff of his beard tickled his companion.

He started to aggressively nuzzle some more, which made Damien wriggle in protest until they both toppled over. He trapped his captive to the couch, still nuzzling away in between smooches, sending Damien into fits of giggles.

“Ah! I’m being attacked by a werewolf!” Damien squealed with laughter.

“No saving you now, pretty boy,” Robert growled, with a good attempt at a menacing grin. “Gonna eat you all up.”

He kissed his way down Damien’s neck, and just to tease him, bared his teeth and bit down a little.

All of a sudden, Damien let out a loud moan. Robert stopped dead, blinking in surprise at Damien, now a bright scarlet.

“Oh, my goodness. I'm terribly sorry,” Damien said breathlessly, gazing up at Robert with wide eyes. “I never… I had no idea…”

Realisation hit Robert like a softball bat to the side of the head. “Someone’s got a thing for biting, huh?” Damien covered his face in his hands and nodded. “Nothing wrong with that,” he assured his friend. “Me, I fucking love it.” He nipped at Damien’s neck. This time, Damien shuddered.

“Oh, God, please.”

Robert nibbled a little lower and sucked a bruise into Damien’s pale skin. Damien gasped and clutched at his shoulders.

“Robert, the things you do to me…”

The little broken hitches in Damien’s voice made Robert want to devour him all the more. “We only just got started,” Robert purred. “You just let me know if gets too much.”

Robert continued to bite and lick his way down Damien’s neck, and didn't stop until Damien was a quivering mess of hickeys in his arms. Damien was rolling his hips against Robert’s in a very distracting way, and he could feel himself getting uncomfortably hard in the unforgiving confines of his jeans.

Damien took Robert’s face in his hands, pulled him close, and kissed him hard. Then, with a dark, burning gaze, he said, “Robert, if I don't have you in me this instant, I will go mad with lust.”

Robert, stunned for a moment at this passionate plea, felt a wide grin split his face. “Don't have to tell me twice.”

He got rid of his sweater, then tugged the waistband of Damien’s sweatpants and boxer briefs down. Damien pulled them off the rest of the way, then undid Robert’s belt, watching hungrily as Robert unzipped his jeans. Damien dragged him closer, reaching a hand down to wrap his fingers around Robert’s cock, stroking roughly. Robert cursed, because fuck, he'd wanted that so bad, and pressed himself between Damien’s thighs, both of them leaking wet and desperate. He leaned down, wanting another taste of Damien’s mouth, and Damien returned the kiss fiercely.

He pulled back at last, because he needed Damien just as much. He didn't think he'd ever been this hard in his life, and it was easy to see why. Damien was absolutely ravishing like this, with his hair fanned out around his head like a dark halo, and his lips a rosy red from kissing. Tiny purple bruises decorated his neck all over. Robert decided it needed a few more, biting down into a particularly tender spot. 

“Robert, please, for the love of God!” Damien cried.

With one last lick to a newly formed hickey, he asked, “You ready?”

Damien nodded. Robert eased the head of his cock inside Damien, careful not to go too fast, as he thrust in all the way. Damien threw his head back and let out a long, liquid moan, his back arched.

“Please, Robert… Oh, you feel so… nngh.” Damien bit his lip, looking away, embarrassed.

Robert grinned. “Feel so what?”

“Thick,” Damien whispered.

Robert swore. God, that was fucking hot. Damien was so tight it was hard not to just come right there and then. It was difficult to even think straight right now, but he wanted to treat Damien just right. He took it nice and easy, moving in and out slowly to get Damien used to him.

“That's it. I got you,” he murmured.

Soon, Damien wrapped his legs around Robert, urging him to go a little faster, and he was only too happy to oblige. Robert pinned Damien down, the better to lavish his shoulders and neck with lovebites. Damien was writhing under him, moaning his name, and the sound went straight to Robert’s cock as he fucked Damien harder. Man, was Damien vocal. Robert took his time, savouring every delicious sound that fell out of Damien's mouth. Damien, lost in pleasure, was busy clawing his black nails into Robert’s back, which he discovered he adored. A little pain never hurt anyone.

“Robert, I… oh, God… I don't think I can stand much more of this, I'll...”

“Baby,” Robert growled, and that word alone made Damien whimper. “You wanna come?”

Damien nodded, clinging to him as he continued to fuck Damien with deep, steady thrusts.

“Come for me.” He leaned down to where Damien bared his throat, and sank his teeth into it in a savage bite.

Damien came with a wail, with Robert’s name on his lips. It was too damn good, the feeling of Damien coming on his cock. He was so close.  

“Fuck,” Robert groaned. “Oh, fuck, Damien, you feel so good.” He held Damien tight to him, and came harder than he'd done in long time.

They stayed like that for a while, panting and lying entwined on the couch, mostly because both of them had forgotten how to use their legs. Really, it was hard to remember anything at the moment. Robert wasn't quite sure his name was Robert.

“Jesus H Christ,” Robert muttered. “That was fucking amazing.”

“What… what does the H stand for?” Damien asked, breathless.

“Harold,” Robert told him.

“I don't… I don't recall that part of the Scripture.”

“It says right there in the Lord’s Prayer.”

“It most certainly does not.”

“Sure it does. ‘Harold be thy name’.”

Damien burst out laughing, almost making Robert fall off the couch.

“Oh, Lord,” hiccuped Damien. “You crack me up, Robert Dangerously Small.”

Robert reached over to the coffee table for the tissues, and tried to clean them up as much as possible. It would have to do, because Hell would need to freeze over before he even thought about leaving the warmth of Damien’s embrace. He dumped the used tissues in a pile on the floor. That was a problem for Future Robert, because Present Robert had some cuddling to do.

“What a gentleman,” Damien remarked, with a little sardonic smile.

“I live to please.”

“Well, you've certainly accomplished that tonight.”

They shifted to better accommodate the two of them on the couch. Damien was now snuggled onto him, head resting on his chest. Robert grinned while admiring his handiwork, rubbing his fingers over the pretty teeth marks he'd left all over Damien’s skin. Eventually, their skin began to chill, and Robert pulled the crocheted blanket over them.

“Someone make this for you?”

“My grandmother.”

“Well, tell her sorry, because there's probably jizz on it now.”

“Robert!”

“Hey, at least it stopped the couch from being ruined.”

“Oh. Point taken.”

He started to toy with Damien’s long, silky locks, brushing his fingers through them, over and over. It was unbelievable, how soft it was, and how wonderful it smelled.

“How is your hair so soft?”

“Dog shampoo. I believe it contains honey and flower extracts.”

“I knew it! So that's why you smell so fucking good all the time.”

Damien sniggered. “I wasn't aware you felt this way about my scent.”

“I just wanna sniff you all day.”

“We would get absolutely nothing done if you did that.”

Robert fixed Damien with an intense gaze. “We should do that tomorrow. Lie in bed all day and do nothing. Well.” He gave Damien a sleazy smirk. “Maybe not nothing.”

Damien smacked him in the arm. “Robert! You’re incorrigible.”

“I'll bring you breakfast in bed,” Robert said, trying to tempt him.

“Oh, very well,” huffed Damien. “My taxidermy specimen can wait another day, I suppose.”

“Your what now?” He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Damien.

“Taxidermy. I like to put on my true crime podcasts and then work on my latest specimen. That's what I do of a weekend.”

“You see, Damien, you say things like that, and then you expect me to believe you're boring.”

“I see what you mean,” Damien replied with a chuckle, then looked up at his friend with a funny squint. “You just called me Damien.”

“Uh. Yeah. It's your name. I didn't blow your mind that hard, did I?”

Damien jabbed him with his elbow. “I only mean that you usually address me by my last name in conversation,” Damien mused. “Or rather, you did, right up until...”

“Yeah, well, after you sleep with a guy, you're allowed to be on a first name basis.”

Damien looked a little bashful, then said, “I like it when you call me Damien.”

“As you wish.” Robert planted a kiss on Damien’s forehead. He kept stroking Damien’s hair gently, until soon enough, the man drifted off in his arms, snoring quietly.

“Night, Damien,” he murmured, hugging his lover tight to him, and before long, was sound asleep as well.

* * *

“I leave for a weekend, and you hook up with Robert from next door?” Lucien giggled at his father, his food entirely forgotten. His father had just finished filling him in on all the goings on that he'd missed during his school trip.

“Well, I wouldn't put it in quite such vulgar terms, Lucien dear, but yes. We have an understanding.” Damien poked at his roast vegetables, coughing awkwardly.

“That's a quaint way of saying you guys totally did the nasty.”

Damien nearly choked on his mouthful of food. “There is more than just - I mean, really, he’s actually quite a gentleman, and - Well, it goes far beyond ‘the nasty’, as you so eloquently put it.” 

“Oh, so he took you on cute dates, then.” Lucien continued to smirk.

“Yes,” huffed his father. “He did, and they were very nice.”

“And _then_ you did the nasty.”

“Lucien!” Damien spluttered, his face now as red as his beets. Lucien chuckled.

“I'm just happy he makes you happy, Dad.”

“Well,” sighed Damien. “Thank you, son. He does.”

They continued to eat in silence for a while, and then Lucien piped up again.

“So when exactly do you plan on telling him you're really a vampire?”

“Probably on his birthday,” Damien grinned. “He'll be over the moon.”

“Can I livestream it?”

“Absolutely not. You'll do no such thing,” tutted his father. “Now eat your vegetables, or there’ll be no black pudding for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The words that unlock the rum brownies are from George Thorogood's One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer. Mary's story is based on an experience I had in uni. And yes, Robert totally quoted The Princess Bride at the end there.


End file.
